The Atlantic wind cut hard along the granite cliffs outside Rockport, Maine, the kind that tastes like salt and old iron.
Inside the Silverline Coastal Express, a woman named Vivian Hale sat alone in a private compartment, silk dress spotless, eyes flat as glass.
At her feet trembled a tiny white puppy with a cheap blue ribbon and a collar that looked too new.
When the train curved above the drop, Vivian slid the window open as if letting in fresh air.
She lifted the puppy with two fingers, like something inconvenient, and held it out over the rushing dark.
A faint yelp vanished under the roar of wheels, and she released it without blinking.
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